1901 UP FROM SLAVERY Booker T. Washington Washington, Booker.docx

1901
UP FROM SLAVERY
Booker T. Washington
Washington, Booker T. (1856-1915) - American writer and
educationist.Born a slave in Virginia, he was later educated at
the Hampton Institute and went on to establish and head the
Tuskegee Institute in Alabama. Up From Slavery (1901) -
Booker T. Washington’s autobiography details his rise from
slavery to the leadership of his race. This is a simple yet
dramatic record of Washington’s dedication to the education of
black Americans.
CHAPTER 7
EARLY DAYS AT TUSKEGEE
During the time that I had charge of the Indians and the night-
school at Hampton, I pursued some studies myself, under the
direction of the instructors there.
One of these instructors was the Rev. Dr. H. B. Frissell, the
present Principal of the Hampton Institute, General Armstrong’s
successor. In May, 1881, near the close of my first year in
teaching the night- school, in a way that I had not dared expect,
the opportunity opened for me to begin my lifework. One night
in the chapel, after the usual chapel exercises were over,
General Armstrong referred to the fact that he had received a
letter from some gentlemen in Alabama asking him to
recommend some one to take charge of what was to be a normal
school for the coloured people in the little town of Tuskegee in

that state. These gentlemen seemed to take it for granted that no
coloured man suitable for the position could be secured, and
they were expecting the General to recommend a white man for
the place. The next day General Armstrong sent for me to come
to his office, and, much to my surprise, asked me if I thought I
could fill the position in Alabama. I told him that I would be
willing to try. Accordingly, he wrote to the people who had
applied to him for the information, that he did not know of any
white man to suggest, but if they would be willing to take a
coloured man, he had one whom he could recommend. In this
letter he gave them my name.
Several days passed before anything more was heard about the
matter. Some time afterward, one Sunday evening during the
chapel exercises, a messenger came in and handed the General a
telegram. At the end of the exercises he read the telegram to the
school. In substance, these were its words: “Booker T.
Washington will suit us. Send him at once.” There was a great
deal of joy expressed among the students and teachers, and I
received very hearty congratulations. I began to get ready at
once to go to Tuskegee. I went by way of my old home in West
Virginia, where I remained for several days, after which I
proceeded to Tuskegee. I found Tuskegee to be a town of about
two thousand inhabitants, nearly one-half of whom were
coloured. It was in what was known as the Black Belt of the
South. In the county in which Tuskegee is situated the coloured
people outnumbered the whites by about three to one. In some
of the adjoining and near-by counties the proportion was not far
from six coloured persons to one white.
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I have often been asked to define the term “Black Belt.” So far
as I can learn, the term was first used to designate a part of the
country which was distinguished by the colour of the soil. The
part of the country possessing this thick, dark, and naturally
rich soil was, of course, the part of the South where the slaves
were most profitable, and consequently they were taken there in
the largest numbers. Later and especially since the war, the term

seems to be used wholly in a political sense- that is, to
designate the counties where the black people outnumber the
white.
Before going to Tuskegee I had expected to find there a
building and all the necessary apparatus ready for me to begin
teaching. To my disappointment, I found nothing of the kind. I
did find, though, that which no costly building and apparatus
can supply- hundreds of hungry, earnest souls who wanted to
secure knowledge.
Tuskegee seemed an ideal place for the school. It was in the
midst of the great bulk of the Negro population, and was rather
secluded, being five miles from the main line of railroad, with
which it was connected by a short line. During the days of
slavery, and since, the town had been a centre for the education
of the white people. This was an added advantage, for the
reason that I found the white people possessing a degree of
culture and education that is not surpassed by many localities.
While the coloured people were ignorant, they had not, as a rule
degraded and weakened their bodies by vices such as are
common to the lower class of people in the large cities. In
general, I found the relations between the two races pleasant.
For example, the largest, and I think at that time the only
hardware store in the town was owned and operated jointly by a
coloured man and a white man. This copartnership continued
until the death of the white partner.
I found that about a year previous to my going to Tuskegee
some of the coloured people who had heard something of the
work of education being done at Hampton had applied to the
state Legislature, through their representatives, for a small
appropriation to be used in starting a normal school in
Tuskegee. This request the Legislature had complied with to the
extent of granting an annual appropriation of two thousand
dollars. I soon learned however, that this money could be used
only for the payment of the salaries of the instructors, and that
there was no provision for securing land, buildings, or
apparatus. The task before me did not seem a very encouraging

one. It seemed much like making bricks without straw. The
coloured people were overjoyed, and were constantly offering
their services in any way in which they could be of assistance in
getting the school started.
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My first task was to find a place in which to open the school.
After looking the town over with some care, the most suitable
place that could be secured seemed to be a rather dilapidated
shanty near the coloured Methodist church, together with the
church itself as a sort of assembly-room. Both the church and
the shanty were in about as bad condition as was possible. I
recall that during the first months of school that I taught in this
building it was in such poor repair that, whenever it rained, one
of the older students would very kindly leave his lessons and
hold an umbrella over me while I heard the recitations of the
others. I remember, also, that on more than one occasion my
landlady held an umbrella over me while I ate breakfast.
At the time I went to Alabama the coloured people were taking
considerable interest in politics, and they were very anxious
that I should become one of them politically, in every respect.
They seemed to have a little distrust of strangers in this regard.
I recall that one man, who seemed to have been designated by
the others to look after my political destiny, came to me on
several occasions and said, with a good deal of earnestness:
“We wants you to be sure to vote jes’ like we votes. We can’t
read de newspapers very much, but we knows how to vote, an’
we wants you to vote jes’ like we votes.” He added: “We
watches de white man, and we keeps watching de white man till
we finds out which way de white man’s gwine to vote; an’ when
we finds out which way de white man’s gwine to vote, den we
votes ‘xactly de other way. Den we knows we’s right.” I am
glad to add, however, that at the present time the disposition to
vote against the white man merely because he is white is largely
disappearing, and the race is learning to vote from principle, for
what the voter considers to be for the best interests of both
races.

I reached Tuskegee, as I have said, early in June, 1881. The
first month I spent in finding accommodations for the school,
and in travelling through Alabama, examining into the actual
life of the people, especially in the country districts, and in
getting the school advertised among the class of people that I
wanted to have attend it. The most of my travelling was done
over the country roads, with a mule and a cart or a mule and a
buggy wagon for conveyance. I ate and slept with the people, in
their little cabins. I saw their farms, their schools, their
churches. Since, in the case of the most of these visits, there
had been no notice given in advance that a stranger was
expected, I had the advantage of seeing the real, everyday life
of the people.
In the plantation districts I found that, as a rule, the whole
family slept in one room, and that in addition to the immediate
family
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there sometimes were relatives, or others not related to the
family, who slept in the same room. On more than one occasion
I went outside the house to get ready for bed, or to wait until
the family had gone to bed. They usually contrived some kind of
a place for me to sleep, either on the floor or in a special part of
another’s bed. Rarely was there any place provided in the cabin
where one could bathe even the face and hands, but usually
some provision was made for this outside the house, in the yard.
The common diet of the people was fat pork and corn bread. At
times I have eaten in cabins where they had only corn bread and
“blackeye peas” cooked in plain water. The people seemed to
have no other idea than to live on this fat meat and corn bread-
the meat, and the meal of which the bread was made, having
been bought at a high price at a store in town, notwithstanding
the fact that the land all about the cabin homes could easily
have been made to produce nearly every kind of garden
vegetable that is raised anywhere in the country. Their one
object seemed to be plant nothing but cotton; and in many cases
cotton was planted up to the very door of the cabin.

In these cabin homes I often found sewing-machines which had
been bought, or were being bought, on instalments, frequently
at a cost of as much as sixty dollars, or showy clocks for which
the occupants of the cabins had paid twelve or fourteen dollars.
I remember that on one occasion when I went into one of these
cabins for dinner, when I sat down to the table for a meal with
the four members of the family, I noticed that, while there were
five of us at the table, there was but one fork for the five of us
to use. Naturally there was an awkward pause on my part. In the
opposite corner of that same cabin was an organ for which the
people told me they were paying sixty dollars in monthly
instalments. One fork, and a sixty-dollar organ!
In most cases the sewing-machine was not used, the clocks were
so worthless that they did not keep correct time- and if they
had, in nine cases out of ten there would have been no one in
the family who could have told the time of day- while the organ,
of course, was rarely used for want of a person who could play
upon it.
In the case to which I have referred, where the family sat down
to the table for the meal at which I was their guest, I could see
plainly that this was an awkward and unusual proceeding, and
was done in my honour. In most cases, when the family got up
in the morning, for example, the wife would put a piece of meat
in a frying-pan and put a lump of dough in a “skillet,” as they
called it. These utensils would be placed on the fire, and in ten
or fifteen minutes breakfast would be ready. Frequently the
husband would
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take his bread and meat in his hand and start for the field,
eating as he walked. The mother would sit down in a corner and
eat her breakfast, perhaps from a plate and perhaps directly
from the “’skillet” or frying-pan, while the children would eat
their portion of the bread and meat while running about the
yard. At certain seasons of the year, when meat was scarce, it
was rarely that the children who were not old enough or strong
enough to work in the fields would have the luxury of meat.

The breakfast over, and with practically no attention given to
the house, the whole family would, as a general thing, proceed
to the cotton-field. Every child that was large enough to carry a
hoe was put to work, and the baby- for usually there was at least
one baby- would be laid down at the end of the cotton row, so
that its mother could give it a certain amount of attention when
she had finished chopping her row. The noon meal and the
supper were taken in much the same way as the breakfast.
All the days of the family would be spent after much this same
routine, except Saturday and Sunday. On Saturday the whole
family would spend at least half a day, and often a whole day,
in town. The idea in going to town was, I suppose, to do
shopping, but all the shopping that the whole family had money
for could have been attended to in ten minutes by one person.
Still, the whole family remained in town for most of the day,
spending the greater part of the time in standing on the streets,
the women, too often, sitting about somewhere smoking or
dipping snuff. Sunday was usually spent in going to some big
meeting. With few exceptions, I found that the crops were
mortgaged in the counties where I went, and that the most of the
coloured farmers were in debt. The state had not been able to
build schoolhouses in the country districts, and, as a rule, the
schools were taught in churches or in log cabins. More than
once, while on my journeys, I found that there was no provision
made in the house used for school purposes for heating the
building during the winter, and consequently a fire had to be
built in the yard, and teacher and pupils passed in and out of the
house as they got cold or warm. With few exceptions, I found
the teachers in these country schools to be miserably poor in
preparation for their work, and poor in moral character. The
schools were in session from three to five months. There was
practically no apparatus in the schoolhouses, except that
occasionally there was a rough blackboard.
I recall that one day I went into a schoolhouse- or rather into an
abandoned log cabin that was being used as a schoolhouse- and
found five pupils who were studying a lesson from one book.

Two of these, on the front seat, were using the book between
them;
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behind these were two others peeping over the shoulders of the
first two, and behind the four was a fifth little fellow who was
peeping over the shoulders of all four.
What I have said concerning the character of the schoolhouses
and teachers will also apply quite accurately as a description of
the church buildings and the ministers.
I met some very interesting characters during my travels. As
illustrating the peculiar mental processes of the country people,
I remember that I asked one coloured man, who was about sixty
years old, to tell me something of his history. He said that he
had been born in Virginia, and sold into Alabama in 1845. I
asked him how many were sold at the same time. He said,
“There were five of us; myself and brother and three mules.” In
giving all these descriptions of what I saw during my month of
travel in the country around Tuskegee, I wish my readers to
keep in mind the fact that there were many encouraging
exceptions to the conditions which I have described. I have
stated in such plain words what I saw, mainly for the reason that
later I want to emphasize the encouraging changes that have
taken place in the community, not wholly by the work of the
Tuskegee school but by that of other institutions as well.
CHAPTER 8
TEACHING SCHOOL IN A STABLE AND A HEN-HOUSE
I confess that what I saw during my month of travel and
investigation left me with a very heavy heart. The work to be
done in order to lift these people up seemed almost beyond
accomplishing. I was only one person, and it seemed to me that
the little effort which I could put forth could go such a short

distance toward bringing about results. I wondered if I could
accomplish anything, and if it were worth while for me to try.
Of one thing I felt more strongly convinced than ever, after
spending this month in seeing the actual life of the coloured
people, and that was that, in order to lift them up, something
must be done more than merely to imitate New England
education as it then existed. I saw more clearly than ever the
wisdom of the system which General Armstrong had
inaugurated at Hampton. To take the children of such people as
I had been among for a month, and each day give them a few
hours of mere book education, I felt would be almost a waste of
time.
After consultation with the citizens of Tuskegee, I set July 4,
1881, as the day for the opening of the school in the little
shanty and church which had been secured for its
accommodation. The white people, as well as the coloured, were
greatly interested in the starting of the new school, and the
opening day was
looked forward to with much earnest discussion. There were not
a few white people in the vicinity of Tuskegee who looked with
some disfavour upon the project.
They questioned its value to the coloured people, and had a fear
that it might result in bringing about trouble between the races.
Some had the feeling that in proportion as the Negro received
education, in the same proportion would his value decrease as
an economic factor in the state. These people feared the result
of education would be that the Negroes would leave the farms,
and that it would be difficult to secure them for domestic
service.
The white people who questioned the wisdom of starting this
new school had in their minds pictures of what was called an
educated Negro, with a high hat, imitation gold eye-glasses, a
showy walking-stick, kid gloves, fancy boots, and whatnot- in a
word, a man who was determined to live by his wits. It was
difficult for these people to see how education would produce
any other kind of a coloured man.

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In the midst of all the difficulties which I encountered in
getting the little school started, and since then through a period
of nineteen years, there are two men among all the many friends
of the school in Tuskegee upon whom I have depended
constantly for advice and guidance; and the success of the
undertaking is largely due to these men, from whom I have
never sought anything in vain. I mention them simply as types.
One is a white man and an ex- slaveholder, Mr. George W.
Campbell; the other is a black man and an ex-slave, Mr. Lewis
Adams. These were the men who wrote to General Armstrong
for a teacher.
Mr. Campbell is a merchant and banker, and had had little
experience in dealing with matters pertaining to education. Mr.
Adams was a mechanic, and had learned the trades of
shoemaking, harness-making, and tinsmithing during the days of
slavery. He had never been to school a day in his life, but in
some way he had learned to read and write while a slave. From
the first, these two men saw clearly what my plan of education
was, sympathized with me, and supported me in every effort. In
the days which were darkest financially for the school, Mr.
Campbell was never appealed to when he was not willing to
extend all the aid in his power. I do not know two men, one an
ex-slaveholder, one an ex- slave, whose advice and judgment I
would feel more like following in everything which concerns
the life and development of the school at Tuskegee than those of
these two men.
I have always felt that Mr. Adams, in a large degree, derived his
unusual power of mind from the training given his hands in the
process of mastering well three trades during the days of
slavery. If one goes to-day into any Southern town, and asks for
the leading and most reliable coloured man in the community, I
believe that in five cases out of ten he will be directed to a
Negro who learned a trade during the days of slavery.
On the morning that the school opened, thirty students reported
for admission. I was the only teacher. The students were about

equally divided between the sexes. Most of them lived in Macon
County, the county in which Tuskegee is situated, and of which
it is the county seat. A great many more students wanted to
enter the school, but it had been decided to receive only those
who were above fifteen years of age, and who had previously
received some education. The greater part of the thirty were
public-school teachers, and some of them were nearly forty
years of age. With the teachers came some of their former
pupils, and when they were examined it was amusing to note
that in several cases the pupil entered a higher class than did his
former teacher. It was also interesting to note how many big
books some of them had studied,
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and how many high-sounding subjects some of them claimed to
have mastered. The bigger the book and the longer the name of
the subject, the prouder they felt of their accomplishment. Some
had studied Latin, and one or two Greek. This they thought
entitled them to special distinction.
In fact, one of the saddest things I saw during the month of
travel which I have described was a young man, who had
attended some high school, sitting down in a one-room cabin,
with grease on his clothing, filth all around him, and weeds in
the yard and garden, engaged in studying a French grammar.
The students who came first seemed to be fond of memorizing
long and complicated “rules” in grammar and mathematics, but
had little thought or knowledge of applying these rules to the
everyday affairs of their life. One subject which they liked to
talk about, and tell me that they had mastered, in arithmetic,
was “banking and discount,” but I soon found out that neither
they nor almost any one in the neighbourhood in which they
lived had ever had a bank account. In registering the names of
the students, I found that almost every one of them had one or
more middle initials. When I asked what the “J” stood for, in
the name of John J. Jones, it was explained to me that this was a
part of his “entitles.” Most of the students wanted to get an
education because they thought it would enable them to earn

more money as school-teachers. Notwithstanding what I have
said about them in these respects, I have never seen a more
earnest and willing company of young men and women than
these students were. They were all willing to learn the right
thing as soon as it was shown them what was right. I was
determined to start them off on a solid and thorough foundation,
so far as their books were concerned. I soon learned that most
of them had the merest smattering of the high-sounding things
that they had studied. While they could locate the Desert of
Sahara or the capital of China on an artificial globe, I found out
that the girls could not locate the proper places for the knives
and forks on an actual dinner-table, or the places on which the
bread and meat should be set.
I had to summon a good deal of courage to take a student who
had been studying cube root and “banking and discount,” and
explain to him that the wisest thing for him to do first was
thoroughly to master the multiplication table.
The number of pupils increased each week, until by the end of
the first month there were nearly fifty. Many of them, however,
said that, as they could remain only for two or three months,
they wanted to enter a high class and get a diploma the first
year if possible.
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At the end of the first six weeks a new and rare face entered the
school as a co-teacher. This was Miss Olivia A. Davidson, who
later became my wife. Miss Davidson was born in Ohio, and
received her preparatory education in the public schools of that
state. When little more than a girl, she heard of the need of
teachers in the South. She went to the state of Mississippi and
began teaching there.
Later she taught in the city of Memphis. While teaching in
Mississippi, one of her pupils became ill with smallpox. Every
one in the community was so frightened that no one would nurse
the boy. Miss Davidson closed her school and remained by the
bedside of the boy night and day until he recovered. While she
was at her Ohio home on her vacation, the worst epidemic of

yellow fever broke out in Memphis, Tenn., that perhaps has ever
occurred in the South. When she heard of this, she at once
telegraphed the Mayor of Memphis, offering her services as a
yellow-fever nurse, although she had never had the disease.
Miss Davidson’s experience in the South showed her that the
people needed something more than mere book-learning. She
heard of the Hampton system of education, and decided that this
was what she wanted in order to prepare herself for better work
in the South. The attention of Mrs. Mary Hemenway, of Boston,
was attracted to her rare ability. Through Mrs. Hemenway’s
kindness and generosity, Miss Davidson, after graduating at
Hampton, received an opportunity to complete a two years’
course of g at the Massachusetts State Normal School at
Framingham.
Before she went to Framingham, some one suggested to Mis
Davidson that, since she was so very light in colour, she might
find it more comfortable not to be known as a coloured woman
in this school in Massachusetts. She at once replied that under
no circumstances and for no considerations would she consent
to deceive any one in regard to her racial identity.
Soon after her graduation from the Framingham institution,
Miss Davidson came to Tuskegee, bringing into the school many
valuable and fresh ideas as to the best methods of teaching, as
well as a rare moral character and a life of unselfishness that I
think has seldom been equalled. No single individual did more
toward laying the foundations of the Tuskegee Institute so as to
insure the successful work that has been done there than Olivia
A. Davidson. Miss Davidson and I began consulting as to the
future of the school from the first. The students were making
progress in learning books and in developing their minds; but it
became apparent at once that, if we were to make any permanent
impression upon those who had come to us for training, we must
do something
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besides teach them mere books. The students had come from
homes where they had had no opportunities for lessons which

would teach them how to care for their bodies. With few
exceptions, the homes in Tuskegee in which the students
boarded were but little improvement upon those from which
they had come. We wanted to teach the students how to bathe;
how to care for their teeth and clothing. We wanted to teach
them what to eat, and how to eat it properly, and how to care for
their rooms. Aside from this, we wanted to give them such a
practical knowledge of some one industry, together with the
spirit of industry, thrift, and economy, that they would be sure
of knowing how to make a living after they had left us. We
wanted to teach them to study actual things instead of mere
books alone.
We found that the most of our students came from the country
districts, where agriculture in some form or other was the main
dependence of the people. We learned that about eighty-five per
cent of the coloured people in the Gulf states depended upon
agriculture for their living. Since this was true, we wanted to be
careful not to educate our students out of sympathy with
agricultural life, so that they would be attracted from the
country to the cities, and yield to the temptation of trying to
live by their wits. We wanted to give them such an education as
would fit a large proportion of them to be teachers, and at the
same time cause them to return to the plantation districts and
show the people there how to put new energy and new ideas into
farming, as well as into the intellectual and moral and religious
life of the people.
All these ideas and needs crowded themselves upon us with a
seriousness that seemed well-nigh overwhelming. What were we
to do? We had only the little old shanty and the abandoned
church which the good coloured people of the town of Tuskegee
had kindly loaned us for the accommodation of the classes. The
number of students was increasing daily. The more we saw of
them and the more we travelled through the country districts,
the more we saw that our efforts were reaching, to only a partial
degree, the actual needs of the people whom we wanted to lift
up through the medium of the students whom we should educate

and send out as leaders.
The more we talked with the students, who were then coming to
us from several parts of the state, the more we found that the
chief ambition among a large proportion of them was to get an
education so that they would not have to work any longer with
their hands.
This is illustrated by a story told of a coloured man in Alabama,
who, one hot day in July, while he was at work in a cotton-field,
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suddenly stopped, and, looking toward the skies, said: “O Lawd,
de cotton am so grassy, de work am so hard, and the sun am so
hot dat I b’lieve dis darky am called to preach!”
About three months after the opening of the school, and at the
time when we were in the greatest anxiety about our work, there
came into the market for sale an old and abandoned plantation
which was situated about a mile from the town of Tuskegee. The
mansion house- or “big house,” as it would have been
calledwhich had been occupied by the owners during slavery,
had been burned. After making a careful examination of this
place, it seemed to be just the location that we wanted in order
to make our work effective and permanent.
But how were we to get it? The price asked for it was very
little- only five hundred dollars- but we had no money, and we
were strangers in the town and had no credit. The owner of the
land agreed to let us occupy the place if we could make a
payment of two hundred and fifty dollars down, with the
understanding that the remaining two hundred and fifty dollars
must be paid within a year. Although five hundred dollars was
cheap for the land, it was a large sum when one did not have
any part of it.
In the midst of the difficulty I summoned a great deal of
courage and wrote to my friend General J. F. B. Marshall, the
Treasurer of the Hampton Institute, putting the situation before
him and beseeching him to lend me the two hundred and fifty
dollars on my own personal responsibility. Within a few days a
reply came to the effect that he had no authority to lend me

money belonging to the Hampton Institute, but that he would
gladly lend me the amount needed from his own personal funds.
I confess that the securing of this money in this way was a great
surprise to me, as well as a source of gratification. Up to that
time I never had had in my possession so much money as one
hundred dollars at a time, and the loan which I had asked
General Marshall for seemed a tremendously large sum to me.
The fact of my being responsible for the repaying of such a
large amount of money weighed very heavily upon me.
I lost no time in getting ready to move the school on to the new
farm. At the time we occupied the place there were standing
upon it a cabin, formerly used as the dining room, an old
kitchen, a stable, and an old hen-house. Within a few weeks we
had all of these structures in use. The stable was repaired and
used as a recitation-room, and very presently the hen-house was
utilized for the same purpose.
I recall that one morning, when I told an old coloured man who
lived near, and who sometimes helped me, that our school had
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grown so large that it would be necessary for us to use the hen-
house for school purposes, and that I wanted him to help me
give it a thorough cleaning out the next day, he replied, in the
most earnest manner: “What you mean, boss? You sholy ain’t
gwine clean out de hen-house in de day-time?” Nearly all the
work of getting the new location ready for school purposes was
done by the students after school was over in the afternoon. As
soon as we got the cabins in condition to be used, I determined
to clear up some land so that we could plant a crop. When I
explained my plan to the young men, I noticed that they did not
seem to take to it very kindly. It was hard for them to see the
connection between clearing land and an education. Besides,
many of them had been school- teachers, and they questioned
whether or not clearing land would be in keeping with their
dignity. In order to relieve them from any embarrassment, each
afternoon after school I took my axe and led the way to the
woods. When they saw that I was not afraid or ashamed to work,

they began to assist with more enthusiasm. We kept at the work
each afternoon, until we had cleared about twenty acres and had
planted a crop.
In the meantime Miss Davidson was devising plans to repay the
loan. Her first effort was made by holding festivals, or
“suppers.” She made a personal canvass among the white and
coloured families in the town of Tuskegee, and got them to
agree to give something, like a cake, a chicken, bread, or pies,
that could be sold at the festival. Of course the coloured people
were glad to give anything that they could spare, but I want to
add that Miss Davidson did not apply to a single white family,
so far as I now remember, that failed to donate something; and
in many ways the white families showed their interest in the
school.
Several of these festivals were held, and quite a little sum of
money was raised. A canvass was also made among the people
of both races for direct gifts of money, and most of those
applied to gave small sums. It was often pathetic to note the
gifts of the older coloured people, most of whom had spent their
best days in slavery. Sometimes they would give five cents,
sometimes twenty- five cents. Sometimes the contribution was a
quilt, or a quantity of sugar cane. I recall one old coloured
woman, who was about seventy years of age, who came to see
me when we were raising money to pay for the farm. She
hobbled into the room where I was, leaning on a cane. She was
clad in rags; but they were clean. She said: “Mr. Washin’ton,
God knows I spent de bes’ days of my life in slavery. God
knows I’s ignorant an’ poor; but,” she added, “I knows what
you an’ Miss Davidson is tryin’ to do. I knows you is tryin’ to
make better men an’ better women for de coloured race. I
68
ain’t got no money, but I wants you to take dese six eggs, what
I’s been savin’ up, an’ I wants you to put dese six eggs into de
eddication of dese boys an’ gals.”
Since the work at Tuskegee started, it has been my privilege to
receive many gifts for the benefit of the institution, but never

any, I think, that touched me so deeply as this one.
9-305-120
J U N E 2 3 , 2 0 0 5
_____________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________
______
Professor Michael A. Roberto prepared this case. This case was
developed from published sources. HBS cases are developed
solely as the basis
for class discussion. Cases are not intended to serve as
endorsements, sources of primary data, or illustrations of
effective or ineffective
management.
Copyright © 2005 President and Fellows of Harvard College.
To order copies or request permission to reproduce materials,
call 1-800-545-7685,
write Harvard Business School Publishing, Boston, MA 02163,
or go to http://www.hbsp.harvard.edu. No part of this
publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, used in a spreadsheet,
or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic,
mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the permission
of Harvard Business School.
M I C H A E L A . R O B E R T O

Billy Beane: Changing the Game
In 2002 Major League Baseball players and team owners
negotiated a new collective bargaining
agreement. During the deliberations, the owners pushed very
hard for some form of enhanced
revenue sharing among the 30 major league teams. They argued
that a serious competitive imbalance
existed on the field because large market teams such as the New
York Yankees had substantially
higher revenue-generating capabilities than small market teams
such as the Kansas City Royals or
Pittsburgh Pirates. In fact, the New York Yankees spent
approximately $112 million on player
salaries in 2001, while six teams spent less than $40 million.1
The owners wanted large market teams
to share revenues from local radio and television contracts, as
well as from other sources, with small
market teams so as to diminish the gap in payrolls among teams.
Did baseball have a competitive balance problem at that time?
The owners pointed to the results
on the field. From 1995-2001, only four clubs with a payroll
less than the major league baseball
median were able to make the playoffs, and those teams
managed only five wins among them in the
postseason during that era.2 The Yankees, with the highest
payroll in baseball, won four
championships during this six-year stretch. The other two
champions – the Atlanta Braves and
Arizona Diamondbacks - also had payrolls near the top of the
league. Meanwhile, storied franchises
such as the Royals ($35 million payroll in 2001) and Pirates
($57 million payroll) had not made the
playoffs since 1985 and 1992 respectively.

One team, however, seemed to defy the laws of baseball
economics. The Oakland A’s had won
102 games and lost only 60 in 2001, while spending only $34
million – the 2nd lowest payroll in major
league baseball! They finished first in their division and made
the playoffs. The Oakland A’s spent
$331,000 per win in 2001. Amazingly, the Texas Rangers, one
of the highest payroll teams in baseball,
spent roughly four times as much per win in that season!3 The
2001 campaign did not represent an
aberration. From 2000-2003, the Oakland A’s averaged 98 wins
per year, and they made it to the
playoffs in each season, despite always having a payroll near
the very bottom of the league.4
How did the Oakland A’s achieve such astounding success with
so little money? Many people
pointed to their brash general manager, Billy Beane, who had
adopted a series of sophisticated
statistical methodologies for evaluating players. Beane and his
talented young assistants, many of
whom spent more time running regression models than traveling
the country scouting teenage
phenoms, had sought to challenge the conventional wisdom
regarding how to select players for a
major league team. Specifically, they sought to identify and
exploit inefficiencies in the market for
baseball players, i.e., to determine what aspects of player
performance were greatly overvalued and
which were enormously undervalued. By doing so, the low-
budget A’s found a way to compete with
big-budget teams such as the New York Yankees and Boston
Red Sox.
This document is authorized for use only in Integrated Studies

in Human Resources Management by G. Renz from
July 2009 to July 2010.
305-120 Billy Beane: Changing the Game
2
Billy Beane
As a teenager, Billy Beane was a highly touted young prospect
that many thought would become
a star in major league baseball. After graduating from high
school in 1980, Beane signed a contract
with the New York Mets, and he began to play in their minor
league system in hopes of one day
realizing his potential and becoming a member of the major
league club. Beane labored under the
hefty weight of lofty expectations. He no longer seemed to
enjoy the game, and he began to regret his
decision not to attend college.
Beane finally did get promoted to the major league team at the
end of the 1984 season, but he
never became a starter for the Mets. They traded him to the
Minnesota Twins in 1986. For the next
several years, Beane bounced back and forth between the minor
leagues and the majors, for the
Twins, Detroit Tigers, and Oakland A’s. In the spring of 1990,
Beane finally decided to retire as a
player. He requested a job as an advance scout for the A’s. As
an advance scout, Beane would watch
teams that Oakland would be playing in a few weeks, and he
would provide his evaluations of those
teams to Oakland’s manager and players, so that they could

prepare for their upcoming opponents.
Beane quickly impressed people in the Oakland front office, and
he became assistant general
manager in 1993. Four years later, when general manager
Sandy Alderson resigned to become
executive vice president for Major League Baseball, Beane took
his place. He had become the general
manager of a major league team at age 35 — one of the
youngest executives in the history of the
game. As general manager, Beane was responsible for selecting
the players for both the major league
team as well as the franchise’s minor league clubs. He also
negotiated contracts with all players, and
naturally, needed to operate within a budget set by the team
owners.
He had inherited a great tradition in Oakland. After all, the
franchise had won three World Series
championships in the 1970s and another title in 1989 during a
three-year stretch in which they had
played in the World Series each season. However, in the late
1980s and early 1990s, Oakland boasted
one of the highest payrolls in baseball, thanks to an owner —
Walter Haas, Jr. — who was quite
willing to subsidize large operating losses year after year. For
that reason, the team could afford such
stars as Mark McGwire, Dennis Eckersley, and José Canseco.
When Haas died and his estate sold the
team in 1995, things changed quite dramatically. The new
owners were not willing to sustain heavy
financial losses for the sake of wins on the baseball diamond.
The stars moved on to other teams.
Oakland and its new general manager, Billy Beane, would be
trying to field a competitive team
despite one of the lowest payrolls in all of baseball.5 In the

year prior to Beane’s hiring as general
manager, the once-mighty Oakland A’s, a team now lacking in
superstars, had managed to win only
65 games against 97 losses.6
Discovering Sabermetrics
Sandy Alderson served as the general manager of the Oakland
A’s from 1983 to 1997. Alderson
did not have the typical background of a baseball executive. He
was a Harvard Law School graduate
who had never played or coached in professional baseball. A
former Marine infantry officer,
Alderson graduated from Harvard in 1976 and practiced law in
San Francisco before becoming
general counsel of the A’s in 1981. Two years later, he took
charge of the team. Alderson enjoyed
great success in the late 1980s and early 1990s as the general
manager of the A’s. In fact, the team
won the World Series championship in 1989. As noted above,
the franchise had one of the highest
payrolls in the league, thanks to the generosity of long-time
owner Walter Haas, Jr. — a man who did
not mind losing money as long as the A’s kept winning.
Billy Beane: Changing the Game 305-120
3
During the 1980s, Alderson became very interested in the work

of a relatively unknown baseball
writer named Bill James. Alderson found James’ systematic
approach to studying the game quite
interesting and thought-provoking. He began to introduce
others in the Oakland organization,
including Beane, to this new stream of thinking about baseball.
James had begun publishing his own
writings about baseball in 1977, and he sold 75 copies of his
first “book” after buying a small
advertisement in The Sporting News. The “book” consisted of
68 pages that James had photocopied
and stapled together himself. Through the 1980s, James began
to develop a following among diehard
baseball fans and a few interested sportswriters. Major league
teams paid almost no attention to this
writer who had never played or managed in the game.
James set out to challenge the conventional wisdom in baseball
on a range of fronts. He argued
that the sport had many statistics, but that most of them were
quite inadequate for evaluating player
performance. Fielding statistics, for instance, did not provide a
good measure of a player’s ability to
play defense. Baseball teams tracked the number of errors that
each player made during a season.
An official scorer watched each game, and that person judged
whether a player failed to make a
defensive play that should have been made. James wrote,
“What is an error? It is, without exception,
the only major statistic in sports which is a record of what an
observer thinks should have been
accomplished. It’s a moral judgment, really, in the peculiar
quasi-morality of the locker room.”7
Michael Lewis, who wrote a book, entitled Moneyball about the
Oakland A’s in 2003, described James’
argument about the inadequacy of the “error” as a statistical

measure of defensive proficiency:
“A talent for avoiding obvious failure was no great trait in a big
league baseball player; the
easiest way not to make an error was to be too slow to reach the
ball in the first place . . . The
statistics were not merely inadequate; they lied. And the lies
they told led the people who ran
major league baseball teams to misjudge their players, and
mismanage their games.”8
James set out to invent new statistics that could measure
defensive proficiency. However, to
accomplish this, he found that he needed to actually collect new
data that did not exist. Thus, James
began to track games in a completely different manner. He used
the newly invented personal
computer to facilitate his analysis. In 1978, James found 250
eager buyers of his second self-published
book. Still, few officials in the game paid much attention at all.
Nevertheless, the concept of sabermetrics was born.
Sabermetrics represented a new systematic,
statistical approach to evaluating teams and players. A small
cadre of baseball fanatics and
hobbyists, many of them with advanced degrees in mathematics
and statistics (expertise that James
himself lacked), began to investigate the game in the way that
James had encouraged people to do.
They often wrote to James with their findings. A small,
relatively tight-knit community of “baseball
geeks” was born!
For instance, Dick Cramer, a research scientist in the
pharmaceutical industry, began to spend his
spare time crunching large datasets about baseball on his firm’s

sophisticated new computers.
Cramer became intrigued by the notion in baseball that some
players were better “clutch hitters” than
others. In other words, baseball experts and fans believed that
some players performed better in
crucial situations than they did in other, less critical periods of
a game. Players purported to have
clutch hitting ability were heralded as exceptional ballplayers.
Unfortunately, Cramer’s analysis
suggested that there was no such thing as clutch hitting. Few
hitters were able to demonstrate
statistically significant differences in their hitting prowess in
“clutch” situations relative to normal
playing conditions. The results were startling, yet no one in
baseball accepted Cramer’s conclusions. 9
Few even became aware of them.10
James not only believed that current statistics failed to tell the
“truth” about player and team
performance; he also argued that “the naked eye was an
inadequate tool for learning what you
4
needed to know to evaluate baseball players and baseball
games.”11 For example, in baseball, a player
who got a hit 30% of the time that he came to bat was
considered very effective, while a player who

earned a hit in only 27.5% of his appearances at the plate was
considered mediocre. James explained
why the naked eye could not evaluate performance effectively:
“One absolutely cannot tell, by
watching, the difference between a .300 hitter and a .275 hitter.
The difference is one hit every two
weeks. It might be that a reporter, seeing every game that the
team plays, could sense that difference
over the course of the year if no records were kept, but I doubt
it.”12
James began to try to devise mathematical formulas that would
help him predict the number of
runs that a team would score, based upon various measures of
hitting and base-running proficiency.
His formulas revealed some startling conclusions, and they also
invited others to begin employing
sophisticated regression techniques to study the game. Lewis
explained:
“The first version of what James called his ‘Runs Created’
formula looked like this: Runs
Created = (Hits + Walks) X Total Bases/(At Bats + Walks).
Crude as it was, the equation could
fairly be described as a scientific hypothesis: a model that
would predict the number of runs a
team would score given its walks, steals, singles, doubles, etc…
As it turned out, James was
onto something. His model came far closer, year in and year
out, to describing the run totals of
every big league baseball team than anything the teams
themselves had come up with. That,
in turn, implied that professional baseball people had a false
view of their offenses. It implied,
specifically, that they didn’t place enough value on walks and
extra base hits, which featured

prominently in the ‘Runs Created’ model, and place too much
emphasis on batting average
and stolen bases, which James didn’t even bother to include . . .
The details of James’ equation
didn’t matter all that much. He was creating opportunities for
scientists as much as doing
science himself. Other, more technically adroit people, would
soon generate closer
approximations of reality. What mattered was (a) it was a
rational, testable hypothesis; and (b)
James made it so clear and interesting that it provoked a lot of
intelligent people to join the
conversation.”13
James not only challenged the conventional wisdom regarding
how to measure player and team
performance; he also demonstrated that many tried-and-true
strategies employed during games were
not effective. For instance, most managers chose to bunt in
certain crucial situations to try to score
more runs, particularly if the batter at the plate was not a
proficient hitter, while the next batter was
more effective. The bunt was a play in which a hitter sacrificed
himself, making an out for the sake of
advancing a player already on the base paths. Some teams
employed the sacrifice bunt more than
100 times during a season, or more than once every two games.
James’ analysis showed that the
bunt, on average, did not enhance a team’s ability to score runs.
In fact, it seemed to make more
sense to let the batter try to earn a hit, no matter whether he was
generally more or less proficient
than the next hitter. While James wrote up his findings on this
matter in 1979, baseball managers
continued to employ the sacrifice bunt with unchanged
frequency for the next two decades. By 2005,

only a few teams, led by the Oakland A’s, began to de-
emphasize the use of the sacrifice bunt. Most
clubs continued to employ this strategy as they always had.
As Alderson began to read the work of James and his followers,
he became very intrigued.
However, he remained reticent about trying to apply their work
to his management of the A’s. He
said, “I couldn’t do a regressions analysis, but I knew what one
was. And the results of them made
sense to me.”14 Yet, he pointed out the problem for him: “You
have to remember that there wasn’t
any evidence that this shit worked. And I had credibility
problems. I didn’t have a baseball
background.” During the 1980s and early 1990s, Oakland’s
field manager, Tony LaRussa, was
considered a “genius” for his ability to win consistently from
year to year. LaRussa believed
fervently in many of the tenets of conventional wisdom in major
league baseball.15 Moreover, the A’s
had a large budget for paying players at that time. Alderson did
not want to challenge LaRussa, nor
5
did he feel the need to adopt innovative and seemingly risky
strategies that no one else in baseball
had endorsed or accepted. However, when the team was sold in

1995, Alderson recognized that he
had to adopt a different approach; otherwise the A’s would not
be able compete successfully with
big-budget teams.
Alderson focused first on the concept of on-base percentage.
James and others had shown that
batting average was not a particularly useful statistic for
measuring a hitter’s proficiency, this despite
the fact that Major League Baseball each year identified the
players with the highest batting average
in both the American and National Leagues, and they crowned
those players as “batting champions.”
However, batting average did not figure into James’ formulas
for predicting the number of runs that
a team would score.
Batting average measured the percentage of at-bats during
which a player earned a hit. However,
it omitted an important variable both from the numerator and
denominator; namely, the number of
times that a hitter earned a walk. In baseball, if the pitcher
misfired on four pitches during a
particular at-bat, then the hitter earned the right to go to first
base – this event was called a walk.
Over the years, walks were considered a statistic that measured
a pitcher’s ineffectiveness; they were
not viewed as an indicator of hitting prowess. James and others
showed that some hitters
systematically drew more walks than others. They argued that
these patient hitters not only got on
base more often than others, but they also became better hitters
because of their patience and
selectivity at the plate. Thus, James and his followers began to
focus on “on-base percentage” rather
than “batting average.” On-base percentage measured the

frequency with which a player reached
base safely, either by a hit, a walk, or some other means (such
as when the pitcher struck the batter
with the ball either inadvertently or intentionally).
Alderson embraced on-base percentage as a philosophy for the
entire Oakland organization in the
mid-1990s. Lewis explained, “Scoring runs was, in the new
view, less an art or a talent than a process.
If you made the process a routine – if you got every player
doing his part on the production line –
you could pay a lot less for runs than the going rate.”16
Alderson explained that, “The system was the
star. The reason the system works is that everyone buys into it.
If they don’t, there is a weakness in
the system.”17 Alderson began to select players based on on-
base percentage, rather than batting
average, and he told his coaches at all levels to preach patience
and selectivity at the plate. Soon,
each minor league team in the Oakland system began to lead its
league in walks, and their on-base
percentage climbed higher.
Beane became a fervent believer in this new system adopted by
Alderson as well as the
burgeoning new science of baseball being practiced by James
and his followers. He read widely on
the subject, and he began to talk to some of these statistical
gurus. When he became general manager
of the A’s in 1997, he embraced sabermetrics as the principal
tool by which he would evaluate player
performance.
Beane hired several young people with mathematical and
statistical expertise to help him fully
implement this new approach. These young men had gone to

Harvard, and they had not played or
coached in professional baseball — not the usual pedigree for a
baseball executive. Paul DePodesta,
for instance, became a key player in the Oakland organization.
DePodesta graduated from Harvard
College in 1995 with a degree in economics. He played
baseball and football at Harvard, and then he
worked in the Canadian Football League and American Hockey
League after graduation. Finally, he
broke into baseball with the Cleveland Indians. Beane hired
him as his assistant in 1999; DePodesta
was only 26 years old, and regression analysis was his tool of
choice.18
6
Challenging the Old Guard
The traditional approach to evaluating and selecting young
ballplayers relied on scouting.
Experienced baseball men, called scouts, traveled the country
watching high school and college
ballplayers in hundreds of games each year. The best scouts
had been in the game for decades, and
they had watched thousands of high school games in their
careers. They worked feverishly to find
the next hidden gem that no other scout had noticed, perhaps in

some tiny rural town with a
population of only a few hundred people. Experienced scouts
took great pride in the players that
they had discovered over the years. Of course, they often did
not speak of the many “can’t-miss”
young phenoms who never made it to the major leagues.
Scouts evaluated the “tools” that a player appeared to possess.
A “five tool” player was
considered a hot prospect. The “five tools” were: 1) hitting for
average, 2) hitting for power, 3)
running speed, 4) arm strength and 5) fielding ability. They
used a simple checklist to indicate how
many “tools” a player possessed. The scouts emphasized what
they saw with their eyes, more so
than the statistics that a player had compiled. After all, for high
school players, statistics often
proved relatively meaningless, because they depended so much
on the quality of competition that a
particular high school had faced. Lewis explained:
“In the scouts’ view, you found a big league ballplayer by
driving sixty thousand miles,
staying in a hundred crappy motels, and eating god knows how
many meals at Denny’s all so
you could watch 200 high school and college baseball games
inside of four months, 199 of
which were completely meaningless to you. Most of your worth
derived from your
membership in the fraternity of old scouts who did this for a
living. The other little part came
from the one time out of two hundred when you could walk into
a ballpark, find a seat on the
aluminum plank in the fourth row directly behind the catcher
and see something no one else
had seen — at least no one who knew the meaning of it.”19

DePodesta and Beane did not believe that scouting, with its
emphasis on the use of the naked eye
to evaluate the potential of very young ballplayers, was an
effective way to build a club with a
limited budget. Lewis explained how DePodesta’s studies at
Harvard had convinced him of the
limitations of scouting:
“Paul wanted to look at stats because the stats offered him new
ways of understanding
amateur players. He had graduated from college with
distinction in economics, but his
interest, discouraged by the Harvard economics department, had
been on the uneasy border
between psychology and economics. He was fascinated by
irrationality, and the opportunities
it created in human affairs for anyone who resisted it. . . There
was, for starters, the tendency
of everyone who actually played the game to generalize wildly
from his own experience.
People always thought their own experience was typical when it
wasn’t. There was also a
tendency to be overly influenced by a guy’s most recent
performance: what he did last was not
necessarily what he would do next. Thirdly — but not lastly —
there was the bias toward what
people saw with their own eyes, or thought they had seen. The
human mind played tricks on
itself when it relied exclusively on what it saw, and every trick
it played was a financial
opportunity for someone who saw through the illusion to the
reality. There was a lot you
couldn’t see when you watched a baseball game.”20
DePodesta built sophisticated statistical models that drew upon

the work of writers such as Bill
James. His models, like those of James, showed that on-base
percentage mattered a great deal. Stolen
bases did not. His analysis, though, went farther than what
James had done. For instance, he
invented new measures of player performance, and he was able
to show the relative worth of various
statistics in a way that James had not yet done. He began to
demonstrate which aspects of player
7
performance were greatly overvalued in major league baseball,
as well as those dimensions of
performance that appeared to be undervalued. Defense and
speed appeared to be quite expensive to
acquire relative to their actual worth in terms of a team’s ability
to score runs, prevent runs, and win
games. Meanwhile, on-base percentage appeared to be
relatively inexpensive to acquire, especially
given its impact on a team’s ability to score runs.
DePodesta and Beane became fascinated with studying college
ballplayers rather than high school
prospects. College players had played many more games
against better competition. They had
statistics that were much more meaningful than high school
players. For Beane and DePodesta, “a

young player is not what he looks like, or what he might
become, but what he has done.”21 They didn’t
care much about a player’s body type or the speed with which
they could run the 40-yard dash.
Instead, they wanted to know if a player had produced in
college. Could that player get on base
frequently, get extra base hits, and ultimately, produce runs for
his team? According to Lewis, the
two men believed that they could forecast future performance of
college players more effectively than
high school ones:
“You could project college players with greater certainty than
you could project high school
players. The statistics enabled you to find your way past all
sorts of sight-based scouting
prejudices: the scouting dislike for short right-handed pitchers,
for instance, or the scouting
distrust of skinny little guys who get on base. Or the scouting
distaste for fat catchers.”22
The scouts preferred high school prospects brimming with
potential. They wanted to discover
hidden gems with the raw skills that they felt could eventually
translate into success on the baseball
diamond. Dan Jennings, Vice President of Player Personnel for
the Florida Marlins, described the
importance of scouting and the evaluation of “tools”:
“Tools are sacred. To a scout or an organization, tools
determine the value and potential
impact of a prospect. An old theory of scouting has always been
to ‘stick with the tools.’ It’s a
simple, yet proven, theory for drafting or signing players.
Scouting a ballplayer is not an exact
science. Any attempt to make scouting an exact science through

formulas and mathematical
computations is a misguided attempt to soften the blow of the
success/failure rate of the draft.
. . You can’t teach tools — you can teach skills. An old track
coach once said, ‘I can make
anyone faster, but I can’t make anyone fast.’. . . [Skills] should
never be mistaken for tools. To
mistake OBP and OPS (two key statistics employed by Beane
and DePodesta) for tools, is quite
frankly BS.”23
Beane and DePodesta loved to hear those kinds of comments.
They aspired to take advantage of
the inefficiencies in the market for ballplayers. Their analysis
showed that drafting young players
straight out of high school was very risky. The scouts’ abilities
to judge tools, and ultimately player
success at the minor and major league level was spotty at best.
The A’s, with their limited budget,
could not afford to take many risks in the selection of
ballplayers. They needed to raise the odds of
signing players that would actually contribute positively at the
major league level. They felt that
their more objective analysis enabled them to accomplish this.
It did not guarantee success, but it
enhanced the probability of selecting productive ballplayers,
and it insured that the team would use
its resources more wisely than other teams.
The scouts in Oakland could not believe what Beane was doing.
He was drafting young college
players much, much higher than they felt that he should. While
other teams might have a player
slated to be drafted in the 15th round of the amateur draft,
Beane would select that player in the first
round! Moreover, Beane would approach the young man and

tell him that the A’s were interested in
drafting him in a high round, but only if he signed a contract for
less than the going rate for someone
selected at that point in the draft. Beane had incredible
leverage, because no other team was
8
considering selecting that player as high in the draft. The
object, then, was not to simply draft the
best young ballplayers, but to select and sign to below-market
contracts those prospects that were
undervalued by other clubs.
Scott Hatteberg
After the 2001 season, in which the Oakland A’s had won 102
games, the team lost its star first
baseman, Jason Giambi. He signed a seven year, $120 million
contract with the New York Yankees.
The A’s simply could not match this lucrative offer. Giambi’s
contract would have eaten up
approximately 40% of their entire budget for major league
ballplayers! All the experts wondered
how the A’s would continue to compete successfully given the
loss of their superstar, who had won
the American League’s Most Valuable Player Award in 2000
and had been the runner-up in 2001.

Many people predicted that the A’s would not win 90 games and
would not make the playoffs.
Instead, Oakland won 103 games in 2002, without Giambi, and
they won their division and made the
playoffs again!
One key acquisition during the 2001-2002 off-season was Scott
Hatteberg. He would play first
base in place of Jason Giambi. Hatteberg was a back-up catcher
who had played six years with the
Boston Red Sox. He had gotten hurt, and he could no longer
throw the ball effectively. Thus, his
career as a catcher was over. The Red Sox did not attempt to
re-sign him after the 2001 season. After
all, Hatteberg was basically a .270 hitter with modest power —
the perfect picture of mediocrity to
most experts in the game.24 If he could not catch, then he was
not a very desirable commodity.
Beane and DePodesta, however, had been watching Hatteberg
for some time. While Hatteberg’s
batting average and power statistics were modest at best, he had
an uncanny knack for getting on
base. He was an incredibly patient hitter who earned walks at
an incredible rate. Moreover, he wore
down opposing pitchers because he made them throw many
pitches each time he stepped to the
plate. He also did not strike out very often; he always seemed
to put the bat on the ball.
Interestingly, many Red Sox managers and coaches ostracized
Hatteberg for his patience at the
plate. They wanted him to swing the bat more often. At one
point, the hitting coach criticized
Hatteberg publicly and vociferously for not swinging at the first
pitch more often, given that he

tended to get a hit 50% of the time that he swung at the
pitcher’s first offering. Hatteberg explained
his frustration with these criticisms: “He didn’t understand that
the reason I hit .500 when I swung at
the first pitch was that I only swung at first pitches that were
too good not to swing at.”25
Oakland had a different view. The A’s offered Hatteberg a
contract with a base salary of $950,000
— far below the major league average. No one else wanted
him, and certainly they did not offer him
a comparable salary. In 2002, in his first season with Oakland,
Hatteberg had an on-base percentage
of .374 — tied for 13th in the American League.26 He had
gotten on base more frequently than
superstars such as Derek Jeter and Nomar Garciaparra —
players who earned salaries well in excess
of $10 million per season!27 Only two players in the American
League made pitchers throw more
pitches than Hatteberg did per plate appearance. His ratio of
walks to strikeouts was fourth best in
the league. Yes, he only hit 15 home runs, far below the
number that Giambi had hit in his final
season in Oakland.28 However, Hatteberg represented one
piece to the puzzle that Beane and
DePodesta assembled each year. Their objective was to replace
the offensive production that Giambi
had contributed to the team, but not necessarily with one player.
They knew only that they had to
find a way to replace that run production for the team as a
whole. Hatteberg represented one cog in
the machine, and he was an incredibly under-valued cog at that.

9
Lavish Imitators?
With all of Oakland’s success, one might think that many teams
would imitate their formula for
success. However, few teams adopted Oakland’s radical
approach to selecting ballplayers. They
continued to rely heavily on scouting, while not embracing
many of the most advanced statistical
techniques devised by James, DePodesta, and others. Teams
continued to employ the sacrifice bunt
rather frequently, something Beane had instructed his field
manager not to do.
Only three teams would move dramatically in the direction of
the Oakland A’s. Two of those
teams — the Los Angeles Dodgers and the Toronto Blue Jays —
did so by hiring Beane’s protégés.
The Blue Jays hired J.P. Riccardi from the A’s in November
2001. Riccardi promptly hired a 28-year
old Harvard graduate who had never played baseball as his
assistant. He also fired 25 of the team’s
scouts. Riccardi would have to rebuild the Blue Jays with a
limited budget, fairly similar to the
payroll of the A’s.
The Dodgers hired DePodesta before the 2004 season. He was
only 31 years old, four years
younger than Beane had been when he became general manager
of the A’s. Most general managers

in major league baseball could have been DePodesta’s father or
even grandfather. DePodesta,
though, had one advantage over Riccardi. The Dodgers had one
of the highest payrolls in baseball.
However, the new owners of the team had spent a great deal on
the team, and they were searching
for ways to compete successfully while spending less on
players. The Dodgers had spent a great deal
of money throughout the past decade, with little success to show
for their profligate spending. The
team had not won a playoff game in 15 years.29
The third team to emulate the Oakland A’s was the Boston Red
Sox. They tried to hire Beane, but
after first accepting the offer, he chose to stay in Oakland for
family reasons. Thus, the Red Sox
promoted 28 year old Theo Epstein to the position — he became
the youngest general manager in
baseball history. Epstein had a history degree from Yale and
had graduated from the University of
San Diego Law School. He had never played professional
baseball. The Red Sox were one of the
highest revenue-generating teams in baseball, yet their new
owner, John Henry, believed deeply in
sabermetrics. He knew that Epstein too had embraced this new
philosophy regarding how to
evaluate and select ballplayers. As a fourth grader at an
elementary school in Brookline,
Massachusetts — just a short subway ride from Fenway Park —
Epstein had discovered and become
fascinated with the writings of Bill James.30
Henry had made his fortune as an investor, but he was also a
long-time avid fan of James’
writings about baseball. Specifically, Henry had made his mark
by developing sophisticated

statistical techniques to identify and capitalize on inefficiencies
in commodity markets. Henry
explained how he saw similarities between the financial markets
and major league baseball:
“People in both fields operate with beliefs and biases. To the
extent that you can eliminate
both and replace them with data, you gain a clear advantage.
Many people think they are
smarter than others in the stock market and that the market
itself has no intrinsic intelligence
— as if it’s inert. Many people they think they are smarter than
others in baseball and that the
game on the field is simply what they think it is through their
set of images/beliefs. Actual
data from the market means more than individual
perception/belief. The same is true in
baseball.”31
Henry not only hired Epstein as his general manager, but he
also brought on board Bill James as a
consultant to the team. Twenty-five years after he had self-
published his first writings about
baseball, James had finally found his way into the mainstream.
He had his first job with a major
10

league club. Henry exclaimed, "I don't understand how it took
this long for somebody to hire this
guy."32 Epstein noted:
"What Bill offers us, more than a particular set of sophisticated
statistical formulas, is a way
of thinking. Bill doesn't start with an assumption and then find
data to support it, like a lot of
people in baseball do. Bill starts with a question, and then he
does the research objectively and
doggedly, and let's the truth empirically come to him."33
Many people ridiculed Henry’s moves though. How could he
trust such a young man with one of
the most storied franchises in all of baseball? Was he really
going to let James shape the decisions
that were made by the club? It was one thing to enjoy reading
this hobbyist’s idiosyncratic thoughts
about baseball; it was quite another to employ his ideas to build
a major league team. A New Yorker
magazine article about James’ hiring described the reaction of
Boston’s preeminent baseball writer:
“Dan Shaughnessy, the dean of Boston Globe sportswriters, told
me that he’s “dubious” of the James
experiment, and that he’d even heard grumbling among the
press corps about the possibility of
lineups being faxed in daily from Kansas.” (Bill James lived in
Kansas, of course). 34
In 2003, the Red Sox had decided not to sign a top notch closer
— a relief pitcher that every team
used specifically to try to finish games in which they were
leading. James believed that closers were
over-valued in baseball. Moreover, he was convinced that
teams should employ their best relief
pitcher at crucial times in any of the later innings, rather than

saving that pitcher for the final inning
as every team did at the time. The Sox experiment was
considered a failure in 2003. The players did
not like the concept. The field manager, Grady Little, refused
to endorse the concept. Moreover, the
lack of a proven closer definitely hurt the team in the win
column. The Red Sox failed to hold leads
in the ninth inning in an unusually large number of games. In
the final game of the American League
Championship Series, Little left his starting pitcher in for an
unusually long period of time, despite
clear signs that he was tiring and faltering, because he did not
have confidence in his relief pitchers
and did not have a proven closer upon which he could rely.35
In the off-season, Epstein signed one of the best closers in
baseball to a lucrative contract.
Interestingly, he signed that player away from the Oakland A’s,
a team that felt, like James, that
prominent closers were overvalued in major league baseball.
The pitcher, Keith Foulke, went on to
have a great year for the Red Sox. Moreover, Red Sox field
manager Terry Francona deployed Foulke
in a manner quite similar to all other managers in baseball. In
short, he brought Foulke in at the end
of the game, not as James recommended that teams should
employ their best relief pitcher (i.e. in
crucial situations even in the earlier innings).36
Of course, few people laughed at the concept of sabermetrics, or
at the decision to hire Epstein
and James, when the Boston Red Sox won the World Series for
the first time in 86 years in October
2004, in only the second year of Epstein’s tenure as general
manager. Of course, the traditionalists
pointed to the fact that the Red Sox were far, far different than

the Oakland A’s. They had the
second-highest payroll in major league baseball, behind only the
New York Yankees.37 Moreover,
Foulke was on the pitcher’s mound when the final game ended,
and the Red Sox clinched the
championship. According to some, they had won despite Bill
James, not because of him.
Supporters of sabermetrics pointed to Epstein’s signings of
players such as David Ortiz and Bill
Mueller. Neither player was considered a star when Epstein
signed them to contracts in his first year
as general manager. In fact, neither man was a full-time starter
for his previous team. Ortiz went on
to finish in the top 10 in American League Most Valuable
Player voting in his first two seasons in
Boston, and Mueller won a batting championship. Epstein had
signed both players to contracts that
paid far less than what superstars with similar statistics earned
on other teams. Many people
considered Ortiz one of the best values in baseball.38
11
The Traditionalists React
When Lewis published his book about the Oakland A’s in 2003,
the reaction from most general

managers, journalists, and television analysts was very
negative. In Lewis’ words, they “flipped
out.”39 The experts directed their wrath at Beane, rather than
at Lewis. One journalist wrote that
Beane “has done a terrific job with modest funds with the A’s,
but he’s also a shameless self-promoter
who wrote a book about his imagined genius and is despised by
scouts around baseball.”40 Of course,
Beane had not written the book; Lewis had!
General managers and scouts around the game scoffed at the
notion of Beane as some sort of
genius. One personnel executive said, “You can talk all you
want about this newfangled OPS bullshit
(OPS was a key hitting statistic used by sabermetricians), but I
just sit there and laugh.”41 He and
others did not think Oakland’s success had much to do with
finding hitters that other teams did not
want. They pointed to the fact that Beane had been “lucky” to
draft three young prospects who
became incredibly good starting pitchers. Of course, Beane felt
that he had spotted their potential
where other teams had overlooked them.
Opposing general managers and scouts also pointed to the fact
that the A’s had won many regular
season games, but had not performed well in the playoffs during
Beane’s tenure. As one executive
said, “They don’t have any [championship] rings, do they?
They’ve got three horses in that [pitching]
rotation and they’re riding the hell out of them, but they still
get their butts beat every year in the first
round.”42 It was true that Oakland had not won a playoff series
during Beane’s tenure as general
manager. Beane argued that his approach to baseball worked
over a long regular season (162 games),

but that success in the postseason (in a 7 game playoff series)
often depended much more on chance.
Traditionalists scoffed at Beane’s defense of his team’s lack of
postseason success.
In the afterword to the paperback edition of his book, Lewis
tried to explain the torrent of
negative reaction stimulated by Moneyball:
“Baseball has structured itself less as a business than as a social
club . . The Club is
selective, but the criteria for admission and retention are
nebulous. There are many ways to
embarrass the Club, but being bad at your job isn’t one of them.
The greatest offense a Club
member can commit is not ineptitude but disloyalty . . . That’s
not to say that there are not
good baseball executives and bad baseball executives, or good
baseball scouts and bad baseball
scouts. It’s just that they aren’t very well sorted out.”43
Sustaining Success
As the 2005 season approached its midpoint, many questions
were being raised about the
sustainability of Oakland’s success. The team had failed to
make the playoffs for the first time in five
years during the 2004 season. Due to budget constraints, Beane
had to trade two of his three star
pitchers — Mark Mulder and Tim Hudson — prior to the start of
the 2005 campaign. He had decided
to go with younger, much less expensive pitchers to try to
remain within his budget, recognizing that
it would take a while for these pitching prospects to develop.44
Through 70 games of the 2005 season,
the drop-off in performance proved to be substantial. Oakland

stood in last place in its division, with
a record of 31 wins and 39 losses.45
Oakland also faced other issues that threatened the
sustainability of its operating model. In the
2002 collective bargaining agreement, the players and owners
had agreed to some limited revenue
sharing. According to that union contract, the large market
teams had to share some of their locally
generated revenue with small market teams. The owners hoped
that such revenue sharing would
12
enable small market teams to raise their payrolls, and that the
disparity in spending between large
market and small market teams would begin to shrink. By the
2005 season, the impact of the new
revenue sharing plan had grown to be quite substantial. While
teams such as the New York Yankees
and Boston Red Sox contributed large sums to the revenue-
sharing pool (the Yankees paid $63
million into the pool at the end of the 2004 campaign), small
market teams such as Milwaukee and
Cincinnati received additional money to spend on payroll.
Consequently, five teams increased their
payrolls by 33% or more in 2005, and each of those teams
received money from the revenue-sharing

pool (rather than contributing as the Yankees did). 46
Oakland also faced the dismantling of the management team
that had led the organization over
the past decade. While Beane remained, many of his colleagues
had moved on to other
organizations. DePodesta and Riccardi had taken general
manager positions with other teams.
David Forst, another Harvard graduate and statistical guru who
currently served as the assistant
general manager, might very well be the next to leave the
organization for greener pastures.
James, of course, had been hired by the Red Sox. That meant
that some of his groundbreaking
analysis would no longer sit in the public domain, available for
Oakland to employ. Instead, the Red
Sox would have proprietary access to James’ analysis. At the
same time, many other sabermetricians
were sharing their analysis widely via the Internet. Any team
that was interested in the analysis
could simply read it for free on the web. The question became:
Could Oakland continue to develop
proprietary statistics and regression models that would help
them select players, or would most of
the critical variables and statistical models become widely
available to all interested parties?
Finally, a rise in the use of sabermetrics by other clubs might
very well reduce the inefficiencies in
the market for baseball players. If Oakland’s success spawned
more and more imitators, then it
would become very difficult to find undervalued ballplayers
using the techniques adopted and
pioneered by Beane and his associates. In fact, in April 2005,
Sandy Alderson announced that he was

stepping down after eight years as an executive in the league
office and becoming the president of the
San Diego Padres. Undoubtedly, sabermetrics would soon be a
much more important factor in that
organization’s player selection process.47
Fortunately for Oakland, Beane could take some solace in the
fact that most teams seemed to
continue to rely heavily on traditional scouting. Bill Stoneman,
the general manager of the Anaheim
Angels, explained his team’s philosophy: “What we rely on
heavily are our own judgments and the
judgments of our scouting people. We’re a scouting
organization, and we really lean on our pro
scouts as to what they see in a player. It’s really not what the
guy did last year; it’s what you think
he’s going to do this year or in the future.”48 Jim Beattie,
executive vice president for the Baltimore
Orioles, felt that some teams had become too reliant on
statistics: “If anybody relies on a statistic to
make their evaluation, they’re probably going to end up failing
more often than not.”49
Arizona Diamondbacks general manager Joe Garagiola, Jr.
summed up the feelings of many of the
executives who ran major league teams:
“Maybe I’m hopelessly old school in this regard, but to me
statistics that you can derive
from sort of the basic building blocks I think have real value. I
look at ‘Baseball Prospectus’ [a
baseball magazine with a statistical focus] from time to time,
and some of those stats are so
arcane, dense, impenetrable — whatever the word you want to
use is. I guess this is
meaningful to somebody, but not me. It drills down so deeply,

it’s like, ‘OK, when you hit the
bottom, there are three people in the world that this matters
to.’”50
Somewhere in Oakland, you just knew that Billy Beane was
chuckling at Garagiola’s comments.
To him, it just seemed that so many of his colleagues had their
heads hopelessly buried in the sand.
13
End Notes
1
http://asp.usatoday.com/sports/baseball/salaries/totalpayroll.asp
x?year=2001
2 Alexander, Andrew. “Fixing Baseball’s Competitive Balance
Problem.” The Intellectual Conservative. August
11, 2003.
3 Lewis, Michael. (2004). Moneyball: The Art of Winning An
Unfair Game. New York: W.W. Norton and
Company.
4 http://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/OAK/
5 Lewis, (2004).
6 http://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/OAK/

7 Lewis, (2004), p. 66.
8 Lewis, (2004), p. 67.
9 Lewis, (2004).
10 The sabermetric analysis of clutch hitting did not gain
widespread attention until Sports Illustrated
published a story about it in March 2004. See T. Verducci,
“Does Clutch Hitting Really Exist?” Sports Illustrated,
March 30, 2004. Interestingly, with attention finally on this
topic, some are now questioning Cramer’s
conclusions. For instance, a University of Pennsylvania student
conducted a study that shows that some players
are, in fact, clutch hitters. See “Clutch Hitters and Choke
Hitters: Myth or Reality,” University of Pennsylvania
Press Release, May 5, 2005. Moreover, Bill James has written
an article that calls for a re-examination of the
statistical methodology that Cramer employed, and in fact, that
James has employed frequently in the past.
While James does not directly challenge Cramer’s conclusions,
he does expose weaknesses in the statistical
approach. See James, Bill. (2004). “Underestimating the Fog,”
The Baseball Research Journal, Volume 33.
11 Lewis, (2004), p. 68.
12 Lewis, (2004). p. 68.
13 Lewis, (2004). p. 77-78.
14 Lewis, (2004). p. 57.
15 For more on LaRussa’s approach to managing a game, see
Bissinger, Buzz. (2005). Three Nights in August.
Boston: Houghton-Mifflin.
16 Lewis, (2004). p. 59.
17 Lewis, (2004). p. 59.
18 http://www.greatertalent.com/bios/depodesta.shtml
19 Lewis, (2004). p. 37.
20 Lewis, (2004). p. 18.

21 Lewis, (2004). p. 38.
22 Lewis, (2004). p. 38.
23 Jennings, Dan. “Jennings Relies on Tools To Shape Marlins
Roster,” Baseball America, March 21, 2003.
24 http://www.baseball-reference.com/h/hattesc01.shtml
25 Lewis, (2004). p. 178.
26 Lewis, (2004). p. 178.
14
27 http://www.baseball-reference.com/j/jeterde01.shtml;
http://www.baseball-
reference.com/g/garcino01.shtml
28 Lewis, (2004). p. 171.
29 Painter, Jill. “Will DePodesta Bring ‘Moneyball’ to La-La
Land,” Baseball America, February 17, 2004.
30 Shaughnessy, Dan. (2005). Reversing the Curse. Boston:
Houghton-Mifflin.
31 Lewis, (2004). p. 90-91.
32 Neyer, Rob. “Red Sox Hire James In Advisory Capacity,”
ESPN.com, November 5, 2002.
33 Neyer, Rob. “Red Sox Hire James In Advisory Capacity,”
ESPN.com, November 5, 2002.
34 McGrath, Ben. “The Professor of Baseball,” The New
Yorker, July 14, 2003.

35 Shaughnessy, (2005).
37 In fact, the 2004 Boston Red Sox became the first World
Series champion with a player payroll in excess of
$100 million.
39 Lewis, (2004). p. 290.
40 Lewis, (2004). p. 290.
41 Berardino, Mike. “The Great Debate: While Sabermetrics
Have Made Great Inroads In The Game, Some
Still View Statistical Analysis With Skepticism,” Baseball
America, March 21, 2003.
42 Berardino, (2003).
43 Lewis, (2004). p. 287-288.
44 http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/6735986/
45 http://sports.espn.go.com/mlb/standings
46 Bodley, Hal. “Revenue Sharing Paying Off,” USA Today,
April 7, 2005.
47 Krasovic, Tom. “Padres Lure Alderson,” San Diego Union-
Tribune. April 19, 2005.
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1901 UP FROM SLAVERY Booker T. Washington Washington, Booker.docx

1901 UP FROM SLAVERY Booker T. Washington Washington, Booker.docx

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